


Emehlweni Akho

by orphan_account



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/F, F/M, Graphic, Hurt, Irondad, Longing, M/M, Memes, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Post CACW, Ross is a bitch, Snark snark snark, Tony Snark, heavy makeout sesh maybe, hmm irondad, hurt comfort, lgbtq+, shuri and peter are the ultimate duo, snark wilson, snarktasha romanoff, spiderson, tchalla is a good friend, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When a series of unfortunate events leads to Tony Stark finding himself facing someone he thought he would never have to see again, shit goes down. And Tony will have to forgive, maybe even forget, but he doesn’t know if he can.Steve Rogers was the last person Tony wanted to see, but to make something work, you have to learn to see things from their eyes.
Relationships: James “Bucky” Barnes/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Peter Parker, T’challa/Nakia
Kudos: 31





	1. Shots

**Author's Note:**

> A post CACW fanfiction based loosely off a roleplay I did on the Marvel Amino with someone. I can’t tag them here because they don’t have an Ao3, but thank you. I have no idea where this is gonna go or how it’s gonna turn about but if you read it thank you.

“You’re telling me that Wilson told you where Rogers was?” Ross paces around the room; Tony keeps a steady eye on the gun in his belt, knowing full well of Peter’s presence in the room as his intern and Ross’ anger management issues.

“Wilson did tell me,” Tony replies calmly. “But I’m pretty sure I paid for that, didn’t I? Unless you weren’t watching the news at all last week?”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you paid for it, it matters that you knew where they were and didn’t bother to tell us,” says Ross. “Why?” 

“Because they had been right about the whole thing,” Tony says, trying to keep that day from entering his mind again. 

_ Did you know? _

__ _ Yes. _

He squints his eyes shut, turning away so that Peter, who’s watching from the corner of the room, can’t see the pain that Tony’s sure is written across his face. 

“And you didn’t bother to tell me that either?” 

“Pretty sure I did,” says Tony, biting back an exasperated sigh.

And the gun comes out of Ross’ belt and suddenly it’s like Tony’s awake, alive, even, for the first time since Siberia. His head snaps up, watching the gun warily; Tony stands, and comes to face Ross, despite the fact that the Secretary of State towered over him. 

“Put the gun down, Secretary Ross,” Tony says quietly, pouring in every bit of malice and anger that he had felt over the past few weeks into the words. “Put it down before I ask you to leave.”

And Ross’ grip on the gun eases until it dangles loosely by his side. Tony takes a step back and turns around, back facing the other man. Peter is no longer in the corner of the room; instead, he’s sitting at a desk, doing something on his laptop. 

“And what about the disaster in Leipzig?” Ross calls from behind him. “The Spider-Man? Vigilante who’s been hopping around New York like he owns the place?” 

Tony tenses, knowing that Peter was listening into their conversation. Sure enough, Peter turns his head a little bit and shoots Tony a frantic look.  _ Please don’t tell him, please don’t tell him _ . As if Tony would ever dream of doing that to the kid.

“What about Spider-Man?” asks Tony, turning back to face Ross and giving him a cold smile. 

“Who is he?” Ross demands. “What’s his name? You must know, seeing as you recruited him.” 

“The real identity of the Spider-Man is something that I cannot tell you, because it’s not my place,” Tony says, feeling the heat of both Ross and Peter’s gaze burning down on him, Peter’s a little more scared than angry. 

“It’s the government’s business to know!” Ross says. 

“I’m afraid that the government is going to have to find out from some other source,” Tony says, and steps back. He moves over to Peter, who’s shut the laptop and tucked it away in his bag. “Come on, kid, we’re leaving!” 

“You’re not going  _ anywhere _ until you tell the government who the Spider-Man is!” Ross is almost shouting, and Tony looks back for a second.

He grips the gun more tightly now, and Tony puts his arm around Peter’s back to keep him moving. 

“ _ COME BACK HERE, STARK! _ ” 

_ Bang. _

It’s too fast for Tony to catch, but the bullet’s ripped through Peter’s side before he can even react. 

It’s awful. Gut-wrenching. Tony wants to throw up, run away, hide, but he can only stand and watch in terror as Peter falls to the floor, in slow-motion, as if time is dragging the moment out just for fun. And hot, dark, scarlet blood pools on the white floor of Avengers Tower where Peter lies, coughing and trying to move.

Tony looks back at Ross, who’s stumbled backwards and hit the floor, sitting there very unprofessionally. The gun has been thrown aside, and his hand is empty, choosing to rest over his heart.

Tony finds his voice again. “What the  _ FUCK? _ ” he almost screams at Ross. “You sick, twisted,  _ bastard _ .”

Ross says nothing, and Tony turns back to Peter’ who’s managed to lift himself a little. “Hey, Pete, don’t move, you’re gonna be alright, you’re gonna be fine, just don’t move, don’t move.” Tony repeats it like a mantra, almost as if he was reassuring himself instead of Peter. “We gotta get you to a hospital. They can fix you.” 

“No, Mr. Stark-” Peter says, coughing. Blood spills out from his mouth, covering Tony’s designer shirt. “They- my blood- the spider-” His voice is so soft it’s almost a whisper, but Tony understands.

“Then where can I-” 

He stops himself, mid-sentence, knowing full well where they could take him. 

Tony takes a deep breath, and lifts Peter up into his arms, trying his best not to dislodge the bullet embedded in the boy’s side. He’s not insanely heavy, although the muscles he had probably added to his weight a bit. 

Tony carries him all the way up to the landing platform, holding Peter as still as possible, because every time he jostled the kid he would let out a small groan of pain and discomfort and the noise hurt Tony. 

The jet was already ready to go, Happy standing dutifully next to it. 

“Thanks, Hap,” Tony says, carrying Peter up the stairs. 

“I heard the gunshot,” said Happy. “What the hell happened?” 

“Ross,” says Tony. “Do me a favor-” he places Peter in a stretcher and secures him. The medical team comes to stabilize him. “And call the police on Secretary Ross. Tell them if they need to call me that I won’t be available. Everything goes through you.” 

“You got it, boss,” says Happy, and turns to leave. “I hope the kid is okay.” 

“He’ll be alright, I’m sure,” says Tony, but once again, he was comforting himself. 

“Alright, happy travels, Tony,” Happy says, and he’s gone.

Tony turns back to Peter, who’s now asleep, the nurses having stabilized his vitals. “Please be alright,” he whispers to the sleeping boy, who murmurs something unintelligible in reply. 

* * *

The flight to Wakanda isn’t too long, mostly because the jet is flying twice as fast as it should be. But at this point, Tony didn’t really care. 

He’d never been to Wakanda before; no one had. But it truly was breathtaking. 

The rolling African hills were washed over with golden evening sunlight, the fiery red glow of the sun just visible behind the ridge. Children played in the valleys, dancing around fires happily, and shepherds tended to their flocks in the pastures. Oddly enough, it reminded Tony of the Italian countryside, although the two could not be more different. 

The plane lands in the Wakandan airspace; Tony had sent a message beforehand to T’Challa, telling him of their arrival. The Black Panther is waiting for them at the foot of the jet when it lands. The stretcher is carried out by the guards, and Tony follows right behind it, T’Challa joining him as they walk in.

“What happened to him?” T’Challa asks Tony quietly. 

“It was a bullet from Ross,” Tony replies. “Lost control of the gun and shot him through the side.”

“Why bring him here?” 

“I didn’t want the media to get too involved in it,” Tony lied. T’Challa didn’t know about Peter’s true identity yet, and Tony sure as hell wasn’t about to tell anyone, especially after that morning. “I’ve had enough buzz around me for the past few weeks.”

“That’s fair,” says T’Challa, and then lowers his voice. “But you know that they-” 

“I know,” says Tony. 

“If it bothers you I can ask them to-”

“Please, Your Majesty, it’s fine,” Tony says, shaking him off. He could suck it up and deal with it. 

_ Stark men are made of iron. _

“Take him in,” T’Challa says to the guards, nodding to Tony in acknowledgement. “Shuri!”

“Yes, brother?” 

A thin girl, who Tony assumes is Princess Shuri, comes running up to them. “Yes, brother? Who is it that they’re carrying through the lab?”

“One of my interns,” Tony replies. “Bullet wound through the side.” 

“Oh god,” says Shuri. “I’ll have to examine the wound. I don’t know how long he’ll have to stay here.” 

“Let me know as soon as possible, please.” Tony asks her. 

“Of course,” she says, and rushes off after Peter. 

“He is most likely going to be staying here for at least a week, Stark,” says T’Challa gravely. “If you want to go back-”

“No, T’Challa,” Tony addresses him by first name, because he knows the king doesn’t mind. “I’d like to stay here, please.”

T’Challa studies him for a few moments in silence. “Of course you can. I’ll show you to your chambers.”

* * *

The living space T’Challa gives Tony is nice; the room is decorated in traditional Wakandan style, Tony notices, because the rest of the castle has the same theme. The bed is clothed with satin silk sheets in maroon and gold, and a bright glass light fixture hangs above them.

“This is a very nice room,” says Tony. “You got one of these for every visitor?” 

“More or less,” T’Challa says, smirking faintly. “You’re free to explore the palace for a while if you’d like to. I’m going to go down to the lab and see how Shuri is.”

“I’ll be there soon,” says Tony. His urge to explore this palace full of tech was overcoming his urge to check on Peter, because he was in safe hands and this vibranium tech was just asking for someone to touch it. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“It is no problem at all,” says T’Challa. “But if you meet them… please be kind. They don’t know you’re here. And I know it’s a lot to ask, given the current… circumstances… and I know it’s hard for you, but just try. Please.”

“Of course,” says Tony, although a nervous lump was beginning to build in his throat.   


* * *

Tony comes across a variety of different rooms; one holds a smaller, but very advanced laboratory, and another is the throne room, where women in red gear pace around the room. Tony decides not to stay there for too long because he values his life. So he moves on down the carpeted hallway, observing the relics hung up on the walls as he goes. He doesn’t touch anything because, once again, he doesn’t want to go out in Wakanda. Anywhere else, maybe. 

His stomach growls quietly, and it occurs to Tony that he hasn’t eaten in nearly twelve hours, since breakfast in New York. 

“Ah, well,” he says, looking down at his stomach. “I suppose I’ll have to feed you eventually. Might as well do it now before I go to the labs again.”

Unfortunately, not a single door in the palace is labelled, which means that Tony has to open every single one of them. One dark wooden door leads to a couple having a make-out session (and a little bit more) in the closet. The woman screams, and leaps off the other woman when Tony opens the door.

“My bad, ladies,” he says, closing it again. “I won’t tell.” 

And he sneaks away, knocking on every door before coming in now. 

Tony reaches a bright red door with different designs carved into it. At the top, there’s a giraffe, or at least a mask that looks like one, and all the way through until the bottom there are more masks of African animals. The carvings are intricate and beautiful. Tony would have to ask T’Challa later about who did his doors. He wanted one for the new Avengers HQ.

He knocks in the door, a quick rap of his knuckles against the soft wood. It creaks open slowly.

Tony fumbles back, almost falling to the floor, but he regains his balance.

“Tony?”


	2. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think all the chapters may be the same length, but I’m not sure. I felt like writing some angsty Tony today.

_People say that agony digs into you, buries itself deep inside of you like a bullet wound so that when you try to move, you can’t because you’re afraid you’ll break. But breaking was better than agony; Tony would know, because he was feeling both._

_The agony came first, watching the metal arm glint in the faint moonlight as it closed around Howard’s face, moving and shaking and smashing until it seemed like his skull was all but torn into pieces. The agony came as he watched the same silver fingers close around Maria’s delicate throat, squeezing, and the agony came as he watched her gasp for air and the tears slipped out from her eyes as she looked at her husband’s body, lifeless and pale and slumped over the steering wheel._

_The breaking didn’t come until later. Maybe the catalyst was the shield that his father had made, slamming into his chest, the force of it causing a large red welt to build up and stay there. The mark is still there. A reminder, a scar, of something that was never fated to work._

_The true breaking didn’t come until after the letter. The one that had an apology written in a neat script on it, meant to fill a hole, patch things up. But all it did was widen the hole in Tony’s heart, maybe shatter him completely._

“Tony?” 

Steve seems smaller, his figure hunched over at the shoulders, almost folding in on itself. He stands in the doorway with a fragile delicacy, like the sight of Tony was crippling. Blue pupils dilated in his large eyes, scanning Tony; for what, he didn’t know. Behind him, Sam and Natasha. 

“Oh,” says Tony. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this room was occupied.” The words taste bitter as he spits them out harshly, aiming every syllable at Steve. He spins on his heel and leaves, trying to ignore the feeling that was building up in his chest. One he hadn’t felt since Leipzig. 

“Tony,” And it’s not Steve, it’s Natasha. Her hair is a platinum blonde now; she must have dyed it again, Tony notes numbly. “Tony, what are you doing here?” 

“Bullet wound,” the words fall out of his mouth ungracefully, landing thickly in the air. “Not me. Intern. Peter Parker.” 

“Is he alright?” Nat’s taken hold of his arm now; their last conversation replays itself in Tony’s head, but the words are faded and quiet and all he can focus on is the Nat in front of him. “Tony, sit down, please.” 

“No, I don’t need to sit,” he says quietly. “I need to- go- check on the surgery process. And stuff.” 

“And stuff?” Nat repeats; it’s not mockery, though, it’s concern. She had no right to be concerned for Tony after leaving him like that. “Tony, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine!” he says loudly, pulling his hand away from Nat. He turns. “I need to go.” 

“Tony, wait!” He can hear Nat’s footsteps behind him, the spy not bothering to mask them. “Please, you need to sit and rest.”

“No, I don’t,” He sounds like a broken record. “I need to go check on Peter.” 

“If Princess Shuri is taking care of Peter, he’ll be fine,” says Nat. “I don’t know who Peter is, but he’ll be fine, Tony. He’ll be okay.” 

“What do you think I’ve been telling myself for the past day?” he spits out, smiling wryly down at Natasha, whose expression immediately becomes guarded. “I’ve been telling myself that he’ll be okay, but I don’t know what type of bullet Ross had in that gun-” 

Nat’s eyes widened. “Ross?” 

“Yeah,” Tony replies quickly, not wanting to talk to her more than he had to. “Ross. Shot Peter. In the side. With a gun?”

“Why?” It’s Sam who speaks up now. Tony notices he’s grown a beard. Steve still hangs in the back, hands in his pockets and gaze glued to the floor. 

“Wanted the identity of Spider-Man,” Tony shrugs. “I said no. Got angry. Shot him.” 

“And _Ross_ did this?” 

“The Secretary of State, yeah,” Tony answers. 

“That’s sick,” Sam’s face twists into an expression of equal horror and anger. “Did they arrest him?” 

“Happy’s on that right now,” Tony says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to-” 

He takes a step, but something under him gives way and he falls.

* * *

He wakes in the cold, icy wind nipping at his exposed skin. Looking down at himself, Tony discovers that he is shirtless, the large scar dipping over his chest visible to the world. But he’s alone. 

Looking around, he sees that it is the same bunker from Siberia; surrounding him are the yellow-gold glass capsules of the dead Winter Soldiers. Except that they’re empty, the inhabitants long gone. Under his bare feet, the cold stone floor is iced over, like no one has set foot in here in a long time. 

He couldn’t see the snow; this room had no openings. It was different from Siberia in that way, Tony guessed. He didn’t know where he was, or even _when_ he was.

He takes one, two, shaky steps towards the door, which creaks open by itself; eerie. Now he can see the place where he and Steve had fought; Tony shivers, but not from the cold. 

_Did you know?_

_Yes._

Tony’s breathing changes quickly to rapid, labored gasps, struggling for air as he sinks to the floor of the bunker, leaning his head against the wall. The snow that had been there a few weeks ago was gone, melted. Not normal; it was only March. 

This wasn’t Siberia. 

“Hello?” 

No answer.

“Hello?” He tries again. 

This time there’s a noise, behind a solid gray door on his left. And out of it comes something strange.

It’s Steve, but- it’s not Steve. This Steve is smaller, weaker, skinnier, but still walks with the same air of quiet confidence that Tony’s Steve has. His golden hair is much shaggier and is splayed out across his forehead, covering it. 

And from behind him comes Bucky, and Steve-for as small and skinny as he appears to be- is supporting him with an arm around his shoulders. Something flickers inside of Tony and dies. It’s not jealousy, no, definitely not. Tony didn’t get jealous. This was something else entirely. 

Hatred? No. Anger? It didn’t feel like any that Tony had felt before. He watched the soldiers leave, wounded and dripping a trail of blood as they left. Shifting his focus to the right, Tony sees the pillars leading out to the empty Siberian tundra where Steve had dug out the arc reactor. The memory is fresh and haunting; Tony takes a step back. 

There’s blood on the ground, dark crimson blood where Tony had lain with the shield sticking out of his chest, cutting into the soft skin covering his heart. 

_It wasn’t worth it._

No.

_You weren’t worth it._

* * *

Hushed voices filter in; Tony opens his eyes slowly, hesitantly. He’s lying underneath a light, white and bright and shining right into his eyes. Tony squints against it and sits up, propping himself on his elbows. 

“Tony!” Nat comes over; or at least, he thinks it’s Nat. He still can’t see that well; his eyes are blurred from sleep. “Tony, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Tony mutters. “What happened?”

“You kind of just… fainted, I guess,” Sam says from behind Natasha. 

“How did I end up here- wait, where am I?” 

“Steve carried you here,” Nat says quickly, dropping her gaze to the floor. “This is our room.” 

“Oh,” says Tony, suddenly feeling faint again. Steve had _touched_ him; the man hadn’t even spoken to Tony yet. “Oh, okay. Well, I should be going now. Hungry.”

“We have food here,” Sam supplies quietly, pointing to a small white fridge in the corner. “Please stay. You’re not feeling well.”

“And as long as I’m in here, I’ll feel the same way,” Tony shoots back. “I’m leaving.”

Natasha looks like she’s about to protest, but Sam stops her with a hand on her shoulder, shooting her a remorseful glance. Tony ignores it and gets up to turn towards the door. He’s on the way out when:

“Ton- uh, Mr. Stark?”

Tony spins around because he knows that voice, even if it’s rough and hoarse from lack of use. It’s the same voice that argued with him on the helicarrier, spoke to him after the wormhole. The same voice that broke him.

_“We won.”_

_Did we?_

“Yes, Rogers?” Tony asks coolly. 

Steve puts a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing it in embarrassment and doesn’t meet Tony’s eyes. Tony glares at him, cold and hard. 

“Are you gonna talk, or are you just going to stand there? Because I’m leaving.” Tony says, and starts out the door. Nat and Sam have left the room. 

“Tony, wait-” Steve grabs his wrist; Tony spins around, pulling himself away.

“You don’t get to touch me anymore,” he says, a little harshly. Steve jerks backward, the blow of Tony’s words hitting him more than Tony had meant for them to. “What did you want to tell me? Hurry up, I haven’t got all day.” 

“I wanted to say that-” he pauses, and slowly, his eyes come up to meet Tony’s. “I wanted to talk. If you wanted to- er- if that’s okay with you. I know I don’t have any right to-”

“No,” Tony stops him, and before he can stop himself, he agrees. “Yes. If you want to talk, we can talk. Although I’d prefer it doesn’t turn into a fistfight.”

“It won’t,” Steve says; Tony had meant it as a joke, but Steve looks sadly at the floor instead. He really was sorry. “Uh- tonight? Here?”

“Alright,” Tony says, and turns away. “But now I really do have to go. Starving.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything, just nods; Tony closes the door as he leaves, walking down the hallways again with a slight shake in his step. 

What had he just agreed to?

* * *

“He is being scanned right now,” says T’Challa when Tony reaches the lab. “We can figure out how much damage the bullet wound has done to him, and if we can extract it quickly or not. I know you do not want to stay here for long.” 

“Thank you,” Tony says, ignoring the last part. “Has he gone under?”

“We put him under a while ago,” T’Challa motions to the stretcher that Peter lay in, cold and unmoving. It was unnerving; every muscle in Tony’s body was telling him to go to the kid and make sure he was okay. But he stuck with T’Challa instead, knowing that Peter was in good hands. “The surgery can start as soon as Shuri takes care of a few procedures beforehand.” Princess Shuri sits at a table, examining an x-ray of Peter’s torso. 

“Thank you for this,” Tony has to say it again because he doesn’t say it enough. “I really- I mean, you didn’t have to do it.”

“Of course I did, Tony,” T’Challa uses his first name, smiling faintly. “You helped me realize something that I never would have before.”

“And what is that?” Tony asks, because for once, he genuinely doesn’t know. 

“Revenge is not everything,” T’Challa’s eyes drift up towards the ceiling; Tony’s follow, and he sees the brightly lit light fixtures above them, shining down on the two men. “Vengeance will not change what happened.”

Tony turns to look at him; T’Challa’s eyes never once meet his. 

“The best thing we can do, sometimes, is to forgive and forget,” T’Challa’s gaze finally drifts and locks with Tony’s. “And it may not be the answer every time. There are other times that we need to let go. Let go of the guilt, the pain, all of it.”

Tony stares at him; he hadn’t taken T’Challa to be so wise as to know this. He was just a kid, after all.

“Whether we choose to forgive or let go- well-” T’Challa smiles brightly this time. “That choice is ours, and ours alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wise T’Challa is my favorite T’Challa thanks. And feel free to leave comments, I’d love some feedback.  
> Also I fixed the formatting problem yay.

**Author's Note:**

> Emehlweni Akho translates to “In Your Eyes” in Xhosa.  
> There will be Xhosa keys you can refer to down in the notes for every chapter.


End file.
